Who: James and Sasha What: Shopping party Where: Various stores When: This afternoonish
Sasha brushed her brush over her face, twirled the hair falling around her face in a little ringlet, and then stepped back from the bathroom mirror to get a better look at herself. Chic, sassy, and fine. She quirked her I'm-Not-Really-A-Waitress red lips and a smile and grabbed her hairspray. She didn't really need it; she had been blessed with the kind of hair that once styled simply stayed put. But spritzing it around her fashionably sloppy bun made her feel better. It was all about control. Sasha thrived on control.
Setting the hairspray down, she left her bathroom and grabbed her purse from the place she left it on the bed. As she walked into the living room and then toward the kitchen, she checked to make sure she had everything she needed. Comb, keys, pistol (after that last DA got attacked, she took no shortcuts with her own protection), wallet, gum, kleenex, cellphone. Everything was where it needed to be. She slid the Louis Vuitton bag onto her shoulder and eased her feet into cute wedges. She glanced into the mirror one last time to make sure her outfit was presentable and then opened the door. She locked it behind her, stuffing her keys back into her purse. Quick strides brought her to the stairs, and she hurried down them.
It hadn't taken her long to realize the elevator didn't work. The first week at Bellum, she had tried it in the morning. It had taken her to the second floor, then the eighth, and then the fifth before she got off at the third and walked down the stairs the rest of the way. The following few days yielded similar results. She'd given up on the elevator in favor of the stairs, figuring they'd help keep her in shape. And her butt wouldn't suffer for it either.
Pushing the door open to the lobby, she bit her lip and glanced around. James hadn't made it down before her, which was alright in her book. She preferred to arrive first. While waiting, she made a quick call for a cab. Though cabs were plentiful in New York, she had her preferences, and a particular company tended to curry her favor each week. She requested a cab from her current pick before clicking off her phone and leaning against the desk in the lobby. Once upon a time, there might have been a person there, greeting tenants. But it seemed to her that day was long gone.